


Empty Threats

by summerstorm



Category: Glee
Genre: Character of Color, Comment Fic, Established Relationship, F/F, Handcuffs, Power Play, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-21
Updated: 2010-04-21
Packaged: 2017-10-09 01:56:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/81728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerstorm/pseuds/summerstorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I swear, if you don't stop fidgeting like a little bitch right this second and let me fuck you, I'm going to pull out the handcuffs," Santana complains, far more evenly than anyone who's being held down by Quinn Fabray rightly should.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Empty Threats

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt "Quinn/Santana, handcuffs" at lj comm=glee_anon.

Quinn rolls them over and uses both hands to pin Santana's arms to the bed as she straddles her thighs. She gives herself a moment to gloat, and then she leans down and bites at the swell of Santana's breast, pushes her red bra down with her chin and circles one of Santana's dark nipples with her tongue.

"I swear, if you don't stop fidgeting like a little bitch right this second and let me fuck you, I'm going to pull out the handcuffs," Santana complains, far more evenly than anyone who's being held down by Quinn Fabray rightly should.

"Really," Quinn says. The amount of sarcasm she fits into the word leaves no room for any sort of questioning inflection, but it's not a question anyway. She drags Santana's arms and over her head to hold both her wrists with one hand, and then she yanks the first drawer on the nightstand open and smirks at the first glimpse of a metallic gleam.

"That's not what I meant," Santana tries, but Quinn just pulls the two pairs of handcuffs out and lets them dangle before Santana's face for a moment.

"Did you throw these babies in your luggage just so you could use them as a threat?" Quinn asks, amused, and cuffs Santana's wrists to the headboard one by one, watching her face go from denial—widening eyes—to outrage—fighting for freedom—, from defeat—body going limp under Quinn's hold—to acceptance—a huff, and:

"Whatever," Santana says, "just get on with it."

It's like the five stages of grief, if grief ever involved half-naked girls squirming and arching their backs into Quinn's body. Quinn doesn't fail to notice the small smile coloring Santana's face. Santana immediately scowls, and a blush spreads over her cheeks; she doesn't mind being held down and tied up and left at Quinn's mercy, but allowing herself to show that she likes it embarrasses her.

Quinn laughs and slides Santana's underwear down her legs, pausing to place feathery kisses over her belly, her hipbone, her thighs. She makes a show of holding Santana's panties up in the air and letting them drop to the floor, keeping Santana's attention focused on her raised hand as she strokes the sweet spot behind her right knee, lets her fingers crawl over and up the inside of her thighs, ghostly touches to tease Santana until her belly's vibrating and her breathing is so loud it gives away her reactions whether she wants them to be known or not.

"Spread your legs," Quinn says then, and Santana sucks in air before complying; Quinn just slides down the bed and settles between Santana's knees.

Santana would call this winning because Quinn's come out on top; Quinn would call it winning because she's free to make Santana come apart beneath her tongue.


End file.
